


Introduction to Complex Analysis

by Polina_K_Viardo



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bomb threat, Canon-Typical Violence, Conspiracies, Humour, Pre-Slash, Silly Spy Shenanigans, Terrorists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polina_K_Viardo/pseuds/Polina_K_Viardo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"His life in academia is but a facade for a ruthless former operative of, of…" She suddenly paused and shook her head. "You'd better not know. I don't want to put you in danger." She reassuringly patted Julian's hand. </p>
  <p>Julian didn't feel reassured.</p>
</blockquote><br/>An interview with a plain, simple Professor of Math Physics throws Julian into the world of espionage and secret sinister organizations.<p>[18+: This is content restricted to audiences of 18 years or over.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That treacherous math

**Author's Note:**

> Rating M is only for having adult themes - there is no explicit content in the story. 
> 
> [18+: This is content restricted to audiences of 18 years or over. Do not read unless you are over 18.]

"I am no man!" Ezri exclaimed bitterly. The coffee date was officially a bust. "And I would sham one," she added with conviction, "but I also pretended to be older. Which rules out guys from my class." She looked at Julian pleadingly, her lower lip almost trembling. But Julian knew Jadzia too well to buy the damsel in distress act from her little sister.

It must have shown in his face because Ezri went for a different tack. "This project can save lives. Shouldn't that be your concern as a Doctor in training?" Julian stared. "I shouldn't have lied, yes, but what is a little lie for the sake of the greater good?”

"Ezri!" Julian finally broke his silence, "you are training for a journalist! I can't believe you lied to get an interview!"

Ezri only huffed impatiently. "This man is no simple professor, Julian. He would never agree to talk with me otherwise."

"You mean if you didn't pretend to be, and I quote, 'dashing male student in need of a subject for the final project before thesis'?" Julian shuddered internally at the last word, his own PhD thesis featuring heavily in his recent nightmares.

"Well, there was that rumor about his preference," she shrugged with a 'know what I mean?' lift of her eyebrow. "And it worked. But, Julian, don't you see, we have a real opportunity here! A real breakthrough!" As Ezri waxed rhapsodic about an interview with a faculty, for God's sake, Julian thought about Jadzia - she really was saving lives now doing her volunteer work in Africa. He almost followed her there, and his pathetic crush was only half of the reason why he wanted to. Ezri didn't quite get Jadzia's knack for seducing people into her field.

"Before you judge me," Ezri added as if reading his thoughts, "you should know that it was Jadzia's idea."

"Really?"

"She said it would help me to come out of my shell." Ezri was the last person who needed to come out of her shell but the way her gaze dropped away told Julian that the real reason was too personal to share. That or Ezri was a really bad liar.

"Did you talk with him via email?" He didn’t want to learn the hard way it was Grindr. Ezri, thankfully, nodded.

"I know you're busy with your thesis… Sorry! And with the work in that coffee shop... But you would really help me out." She gave him a more measured pleading look before smiling, "and you are kind of dashing, Julian."

That smile was all Ezri and Julian felt his resolve dwindle. "I just don't understand - how on Earth can an interview with a faculty save lives?"

Ezri warily glanced around. The dark look fitted her doll face surprisingly well; it made something clench unpleasantly in Julian's stomach.

"This guy," she said conspiratorially, "is a spy."

Now that was not something you heard everyday.

"I convinced him I'm only interested in his famously harsh exams and those crazy rumors." Julian wondered what Ezri meant by 'crazy rumors'. "He poses as a plain, simple math professor but he is so much more. I've spent two months hunting for information and now I know for sure." Her eyes glinted, and Julian suddenly realized that she indeed looked like someone who didn’t have much sleep for several months. How did he mistake the manic edge of sleepless night with her usual perkiness?

Ezri pressed on. "His life in academia is but a facade for a ruthless former operative of, of…" She suddenly paused and shook her head. "You'd better not know. I don't want to put you in danger." She reassuringly patted Julian's hand.

Julian didn't feel reassured.

"And you need me for...?" he asked cautiously.

"I want you to get a measure of him. Is he obvious about it? Does he torture his students on exams because he can't torture his targets anymore?" She listed a matter-of-fact. "It must show in his answers. The questions should be simple, though, as not to make him suspect anything. It would be better if you think them up yourself."

Julian would like it all to be an elaborate prank, but Ezri’s expression was earnest and utterly serious. It gave him chills. Something was really wrong here.

"Just pretend it's the usual project about scary Profs - how they are always rumored to be former SS and have shagged half the campus." Ezri concluded, clearing up her idea of crazy rumors.

The world was tilting dangerously on its axis, and Julian made himself concentrate on what was important. Whether or not there were Professors dabbing in espionage, whether or not Ezri were trying to manipulate him into doing her boring assignment, or pulling the wool over his eyes, or what not - it didn't matter.

He could read exhaustion in every line of Ezri’s face, in the color of her skin, in the shine of her eyes. She needed help.

And that mattered.

Besides, Julian had free day today, which meant that even his trusty part time job wasn't there to keep him from thinking of other things. Like tennis. Like Palis. Like where did it all gone wrong… And here Ezri was asking him for help, offering him a chance to impress Jadzia, one of those unforgettable persons impossible to be indifferent to. And, finally, Ezri offered him a distraction, however wacky at that.

What did he have to lose, after all? (Sanity? Life?)

"And if I agreed, you'd owe me, right?"

Ezri nodded warily.

"Then I want you to make me a favor right now." He said sternly. "Go home, sleep for twelve hours straight and have a nice long walk after hearty breakfast. Almost-Doctor's orders. Am I understood?"

Ezri's smiled brightly and nodded, all earnestness and no guile.

Several hours later Julian stood before an aged grey building. In the flat on the fifth floor an aspiring journalist Oscar Bley was expected. Julian himself didn't know what to expect from Elim Garak, PhD, Professor of Mathematical Physics in Princess Ann College. There was only one way to find out.

Julian pressed the buzzer.

***

Professor Garak smiled warmly and ushered Julian inside. "Do come in, Mr. Bley. Let me take that scarf for you."

Julian didn't get a good look at the flat as the Professor quickly led him to the kitchen. He invited Julian to sit down and removed an elaborate flower arrangement from the table.

The man himself was fit enough for his age and occupation. Result of a specific kind of physical training in his youth? Then again, faculty were traditionally into sports. Or maybe it was Professor’s stiff costume that created the effect. The black hair without a hint of grey and neatly trimmed nails also supported the idea that Julian met a rare case of appearance-conscious faculty. No chalk marks for this one.

"What a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Bley! Can I interest you in a cup of tea?" Professor asked all earnest hospitality.

“Tarkalean for me, please, if you have it."

"What a fine choice," Professor gave him an approving look. "I thought you'd prefer something more pedestrian like Earl Grey, and let me tell you, it's so nice to be mistaken from time to time." He smiled visibly pleased, but then his expression dimmed, "Though judging by my students some of them take this saying too literally." He shook his head and placed a thin porcelain cup in front of Julian.

"Thank you again, Professor, for finding the time…" Julian began pulling out his notebook.

"Or it's just Garak." Professor smiled again and tilted his head looking straight into Julian’s eyes. "Plain simple Garak. As you are not one of my students we can, perhaps, dispense with the formalities?"

"Ah, yes, of course. You can call me Oscar." Julian tried not to fidget while Garak smiled indulgently. "So, Garak, this project is a bit old-school, you know," Julian waved his pen, "so no tapes and… stuff."

"Now that's a little disappointing," Garak leaned towards Julian with a mischievous air, "And here I was, hoping to get my bubble recorded for posterity."

Garak's amused stare was making Julian’s urge to fidget worse. "The project is, ah, for creative purposes only - just a little break before graduation. You know." He made a show of checking his (coincidently entirely blank) notes. "I think in our letters you've never mentioned where you've worked before Princess Ann."

Garak lent back on his chair.

"Talking about my past! How boring! I wish," he inclined his head to Julian as if to share a great secret, "that I could have told you about that time I went to Japan from Korean shores on nothing but Dutch barque "Semiramide" unwillingly recruited into smuggling ring. Such an unpleasant business." Garak shook his head ruefully. "Or that one time I bumped into the Queen. But alas!"

Garak made a pause. A really long one too, Julian started to discern outside noises.

"Is it classified?" Julian finally gave up.

"No," Garak smiled like the cat that got the cream. "Just untrue. I'm a Professor of Math Physics, my dear," he sighed, "my life is the most exciting when a challenging problem gets solved and light of the insight," he looked up briefly, "shines on me. Ah, but I fear it's not something a young man like you would find interesting."

"Surely a path to math," Julian cringed inwardly at the pun, "was not that smooth?"

"Now that you've mentioned it, I remember that when the smuggling ring inevitably went down I had to tutor some Japanese students. What a fine mess it was - I couldn't speak a word of Japanese! Honestly, though, my job is challenging enough without Interpol following my every move. Students these days don't even know their complex analysis. Can you imagine?"

Julian would rather ask Garak to elaborate on that overly specific denial about Interpol but judging by growing more and more awkward silence he was supposed to share his opinion. "Well, the theory of functions of a complex variable requires a bit of an imagination, doesn't it?"

"Exactly! Imagination and daring. You go from the familiar world of straight integral paths to the world of infinite possibilities, of analytical continuation." Garak's eyes blazed on his animated face. "It requires cold-blooded discipline - the number of potential slip-ups grows as well. Not many are courageous and plain able enough. Which they should have realized before applying for their program," Garak concluded with apparent dissatisfaction.

"That sounds quite," Julian searched for a word, "harsh. Come to think of it, I heard that your style of exam is fabled for its harshness."

"Isn't it fascinating?" Garak immediately retorted. "How people fill in the blanks with their own narrative? The one in which they are definitely not at fault and life has been unfair to them?" Now Garak's smile was all teeth. Julian felt his own face fall. "There is a good word for those narratives. Do you know it?" This time Garak didn't wait for his answer. "Conspiracy. Like how it's my need to see people suffer and not their ineptitude at grasping basic calculus concepts that makes them fail."

Julian met his fair share of arseholes who happened to be teachers or professors so he didn't feel sympathetic to Garak's cause. "That sounds like you believe that the process of learning is tied with suffering."

"Suffering? No. But with pain? Definitely."

Garak's gaze was chilling Julian to the bones but he refused to believe that Garak's exams were so harsh people took him for a torturer. "Can you describe to me how your exam usually goes?"

"It's an oral exam - I start by getting face-to-face with my student. Then I asses the level of the student's skills and knowledge. One does this by asking the right sort of questions."

"Like what?"

"Like, what was the last book you read, Oscar?"

"What?" Julian felt thrown for a moment. "Macbeth, I guess." In fact, it was classic "Trauma and Recovery" but Garak didn't need to know that.

"And how did you like it?"

"The bit with the witches was nice." And Julian could cite it too.

"Now, my dear," Garak again moved closer, "I can see plain as day that the last time you read Macbeth was in the middle school."

"I did not!" Julian spluttered indignantly. It was, at least, during high school!

"And how do you think I know that?" Garak's eyes shone with triumph. "Trade secret."

Julian crossed his hands. "What kind of a Professor needs to know when their students lie?"

"All of them, my dear, all of them. Do forgive me this little trick. It's hard to shake a personae you've been using for so long. Do you, perhaps, know the saying 'Inter silent arma leges enim'?"

"It's actually 'Silent enim leges inter arma.'" Julian corrected still peeved.

"Yes! That! 'In times of war, the laws fall mute'. I always thought it perfectly describes the questioning technique used in exams. Everything goes: sly misdirection, bold face lies, denials. Students must be able to prove their points of view. It's a vital quality for a mathematician."

Before Julian could voice his disagreement (Did Garak really practiced enhanced interrogation on his students?), Garak abruptly stood up. "It's getting late, I'm afraid." He loomed over Julian, his urbane charm gone. "Let us sum up what we've learned.

"Your language, my dear, is appalling. With that level of sophistication, you would never be accepted to anywhere worthwhile. And Macbeth, really?" Garak solemnly shook his head. "What kind of a journalist has poor speech, knows what complex calculus is, and can spot an error in an obscure Latin saying?"

Julian stared at Garak absolutely shocked. "What?"

"Did you owe a favor to that young lady who's been writing to me?" Garak sat down his benevolent smile back in place. "She shouldn't have been afraid to come, I wouldn't be angry at her harmless deception." Julian could only gape. "Though, I can't imagine what she wanted to ask me seeing as you are not asking it yourself."

As no hole appeared to swallow Julian and save him the embarrassment, he decided on the brash approach. "She wanted to know whether or not you had worked as a spy. Or shagged half the campus."

"I can see how these would be hard to ask tactfully especially for a med student." Garak was enjoying himself too much.

"I never said I was a med student." Julian retorted. Garak just smiled more broadly.

"Let us clear it once and for all. I never worked for any government in such a capacity." He said earnestly. "As to the latter, I am afraid I have no comments - gentlemen never kiss and tell."

Garak's earnestness was definitely of a mock variety Julian could see it now. "I'm sure you would never abuse the power a teacher has over their students." Julian added vehemently.

"But that couldn't be any worse than being a spy, could it? Using people left and right for my nefarious purposes? Though I must admit, Oscar, to a certain disappointment concerning those rumors." At Garak's once again somber tone, Julian prepared himself for admonishment. But Garak only lent closer and, dead serious, asked, "Why is it only half the campus?"

The man was impossible, and Julian stopped fighting his exasperation. "Fine, Professor Garak, you won! I admit I failed your exam. You can laugh all you want and leave me to drink this tea," he gestured at his untouched cup, "in peace."

"Of course, my dear, of course." Garak said, now openly amused.

As Julian hided his smile behind the rim of his cup, he thought that, surprisingly enough, Garak turned out to be quite an interesting man. He might have a gaze of a cobra stalking its prey and just as ruthless disposition, but he certainly was one of those unforgettable people impossible to be indifferent to. Love them or strangle them kind.

Julian didn't manage to decide to what school on the subject he belonged because the next moment his head swam and he fainted spilling dark Tarkalean tea all over the table.


	2. Closed path

The first thing Julian became aware of was two voices. To his aching head, both seemed unpleasant but one of them belonged to Garak.  
  
"Poisoning student in my own flat? What kind of fool do you take me for?" Garak's tone practically dripped with derision. And Julian thought he heard Garak's cold voice before.  
  
"You are a supposed to be a psycho in this scenario, Garak," unknown men sneered, "do keep up. Maybe you shagged another rent boy," Julian spluttered inwardly at that, "and poisoned him, and then, my favorite part - you killed yourself!"  
  
A metallic sound echoed across the room.  
  
"As fanciful as usual, aren't we, Dukat?"  
  
"To think that after all these years I'll finally end you! Tain will never live this down."  
  
"You'd be surprised." Garak didn't sound afraid - just increasingly angry, even his simple phrases biting. The man had to be terrifying in the lecture hall.  
  
"Oh, not this time. He'll be surprised to find what you've been up to. You, on the other hand," Dukat began, "will never learn..."  
  
But the phrase was left hanging because at that moment the vase with its elaborate flower arrangement hit Dukat's head with an audible crunch. Julian still had his superb aim, unlike Dukat - the bullet from his gun left an ugly indent in the wall. It also grazed Garak who jerked and clutched at his neck.  
  
Julian sprang to his feet immediately.  
  
"Just a flash wound," he said after prying Garak's hand away. The Professor, for once, wasn't smiling and looked rather shaken.  
  
Dukat, or what's his name, was unconscious on the floor. Before Julian could check him, Garak pulled Julian away. "He's not alone - we must leave before they swarm the place."  
  
Surprised, Julian followed. The wave of adrenaline receded leaving him in the world that was hazy around the edges. His feet were steady but everything else wobbled. "Physician heal thyself," he murmured to Garak's back.  
  
Garak's plan apparently involved a rusty fire escape five feet away from the small balcony. Not hesitating for a moment, Garak jumped on it. Julian was less eager.  
  
"Come on!"  
  
Julian jumped and nearly didn't make it - Garak had to bodily pull him in. A mad dash through dirty alleys and dirtier staircases finally led them to an attic of the sort that more enterprising tenants used as a storage - it was divided into cells by metallic bars. One of the cells was open, its lock dangling from the bars of the door, and had a small dusty window - a perfect observation spot for Garak's flat.  
  
Julian's hands smarted, and his favorite jumper was irreparably ruined but none of it quite registered. He slumped down the wall, closing his eyes for a moment, just to catch his breath...  
  
"Oscar! Oscar! Mr. Bashir! Julian! Come on!"  
  
Julian shuddered and came to himself as someone slapped him.  
  
Garak was sitting on his hunches in front of Julian looking at him with a blank expression. Before Julian could think of a suitable reptilian metaphor, Garak grabbed Julian's hand and yanked his sleeve almost up to his shoulder.  
  
"What the...!" Julian pulled his hand away but Garak was already on his feet and moving away, his hands in a placating gesture.  
  
"No offense!"  
  
Julian stood up as well and righted his jumper angrily. "Now, Professor Garak…"  
  
Garak held his hand as if asking for silence, and pinned Julian with an unimpressed stare. "I must admit, I haven't seen such an unprofessional conduct for at least 10 years. I grant you, the cover story was random enough to pass for real - the touch with the double bluff was particularly nice. But in vain, wasn't it?" Garak asked in a tone of a teacher who quite despaired of his students but still wished them well.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Come now, Doctor, who trained you? Did they offered you an extra 'credit' for this job? Just like you said - one last project before 'thesis'?"  
  
"I'm not a Doctor!"  
  
"No, you are an operative trainee and I don't envy your instructor. But we must contact them immediately - or whatever other handler you have."  
  
"What? I can't believe…" Julian struggled not to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Garak, there is a man lying in you flat who should be in custody. We should be going to the police right now!"  
  
"You've been tracking me for months. Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice?" Garak asked with the same mix of pity and skepticism.  
  
"I did not!" Julian would inch to the door but Garak was right in his space blocking the way.  
  
"I was regular at Replimat for several years. Did you thought I was blind?"  
  
Wait, what?  
  
"Wait, what?" It couldn't be! But Garak was right! He had had to be that 'Old prof' guy, the one Julian never paid any special attention to. Raking his memory Julian could clearly see him in the background of always-busy Replimat.  
  
"Garak, I'm student, I need money, I work at the coffee shop!" He could laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it. "I'm not a spy! Really! Come to think of it," Julian connected the dots, "that's how you knew I was a med student and not a journalist. Now that's creepy!"  
  
Garak gave him a long appraising look and then sighed. "Pity. Could have used a handler or two," he mumbled throwing a look at the window. "What a mess. Whatever Dukat has planned it must be as disgustingly straightforward and clumsy as he usually is."  
  
"I was serious earlier, why are we not calling the police."  
  
"Police?" Garak turned around to level at Julian another unimpressed stare. "That would be the most foolish of us."  
  
"Why? Because you are a real spy?" Julian asked incredulously. "That's just tough! There is a guy in your flat who tried to frame you for my murder and kill you, Garak! Not to mention the breaking and entering to poison the tea. Our duty is to immediately report it to authorities."  
  
Garak scoffed. "His name is Dukat, Doctor. It's obvious that he has an atrocity planned and needs to frame someone for it."  
  
"Like you?"  
  
"Yes, but the main question is why he would even do something like that." Garak looked at Julian intently. "A man like Dukat for one purpose only - to impress a potential employer. There is a new organization in town. They call themselves," he took an odd little breath, "the Founders. A nice group of people seeking the world domination to ensure order in all spheres of life. Now what's unusual about them is that their agents are everywhere, literally concealed in a plain sight - they have an uncanny ability to imitate every given person out there. Do you understand now, Doctor?" he asked still unconvinced Julian. "The instant we go to the authorities, we'll be lost."  
  
Julian was not so sure about that. Whom was he kidding? He was absolutely sure. His plan to reach the door was progressing nicely. But Garak was still too close to Julian. He needed a diversion.  
  
"And that's something a faculty would know about."  
  
"Exactly." Garak smiled.  
  
"Garak." This time Julian did make a show out of pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are a man of science. How can you believe in something so… utterly preposterous? And yes, I know big words too!"  
  
"I appreciate that the evening must have seemed strange to you…"  
  
"You think? This is all," Julian swept the room with his hand, "utter bollocks! I refuse to play along! Math teachers dabbing at espionage, secret orders bent on the world domination… I don't know what kind of world you live in, Garak, but it's certainly not on this planet."  
  
"What is the story you are telling yourself, Doctor?" Garak asked, abruptly dropping his geniality. "That you are an earnest hard-working med student being confused by the dirt and grit of this world? And if, per chance, the world we live in is a place with much unfairness, full of pain and suffering, everyday struggles driving one to despair, and no guarantees of happy ending, who in this world would be Julian Bashir? A coward unable to face the truth," Garak asked fiercely; this close he had to lean back to look Julian in the eyes, "or someone willing to rise to a challenge?"  
  
They glared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Julian gave up. "This is still ludicrous."  
  
"It is most unfortunate." Garak's pleasant manner was back in place. "But it's no use being in denial. Let's see what our enemy is doing…"  
  
The moment Garak reached the window Julian ducked from the cell and locked the door.  
  
Garak watched him without blinking, a huge reptile poised for a strike. But Julian was not a coward whatever the man thought.  
  
"You can wait the police here, Professor Garak." Julian turned to leave.  
  
"How about that, then, you don't go to the police and no one has to know that you are an augment."  
  
Julian's blood stood in his veins. He turned back, shocked.  
  
"Improved reflexes and hand-eye coordination, the way you metabolized that poison. And that mark. I'm neither blind, nor stupid, Mr. Bashir."  
  
Julian couldn't breathe. "You won't prove anything."  
  
"I won't need to. It's your choice."  
  
Julian was surprised by how much the betrayal stung. He wanted to say something clever akin to "Publish and be damned" but Julian knew his bullies.  
  
Without another word, he left.

***

The sign of the police station shone brightly in the autumn gloom. Julian stopped and looked at it dumbly. The moment of truth had come. He needed but to cross a road to get his most shameful and precious secret out in the open. His life would never be the same. But there was no bargaining with blackmailers. He stepped forward...  
   
"Julian!"  
   
Julian whirled around and bumped into Ezri, her reflexes the only thing saving them from falling. "Ooof! Julian, are you alright?" She stepped back still clutching Julian's arm.  
   
"What... what are you doing here?" Julian asked feebly. "Shouldn't you be sleeping as per my orders?"  
   
Ezri just laughed. "Oh, Jules, you are a riot!" Julian barely contained his flinch at the name he hadn't heard for twelve years. "I'm too excited to sleep! Tell me," she said abruptly dropping her fake cheer, "how was your interview?"  
   
"Interview?" Julian dumbly repeated.  
   
"Yes, did you manage to break him?"  
  
Julian felt his grasp on reality slipping. Nothing made sense. He seemed to wake up today in alternative universe where all his expectations about the world meant nothing. In a desperate attempt to ground himself in something familiar, he let his eyes wander. Suddenly in the windows of a car parked nearby, he saw it - a needle clutched in Ezri's hand, the one she didn't use to keep Julian in place.  
  
_The instant we go to the authorities, we'll be lost._  
  
Well, how about that.  
  
“I was going to the police,” Julian began, the fear mobilizing all his mind's resources, “because that grey-faced bastard groped me!” What?  
  
“What?” The woman not only looked like Ezri and talked with her voice - she wore Ezri's favorite perfume mixed with the distinctive tang of Ezri's sweat. How was something like that possible?  
  
“I know, right?” Julian didn’t even need to feign the indignation Garak inspired in him. “Just because I came to talk with him! What a nerve! Thank God you didn’t go, Ezri.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, Julian.” The woman released him and stepped back frowning. “You think the police will take you seriously?”  
  
“No.” Julian sighed. “You’re absolutely right, it's useless. I’m just so pissed! That presumptuous little creep!” He watched closely for the needle but it was gone. “I think I’ll just go home. But you are in my debt now, Ezri.”  
  
“Of course, Julian, whatever you want. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” The woman’s face was expressionless and her words rung hollow. “Do you want me to walk you home?”  
  
“No.” Julian said a tad too fast. “See ya later!”  
  
He left in the vague direction of his flat struggling not to show his dread at turning his back on something like that.

***

Several blocks from the precinct, a van full of crates broke down in the middle of the road. As if it were a bad movie, crates fell on the ground sending dirty potatoes everywhere to the loud annoyance of those around. The commotion, Julian supposed, had to have been calculated exactly as to conceal Garak’s somber appearance from the nearby tailor shop. To his credit, he looked neither smug nor alarmed.  
  
“Your coat,” Garak said giving Julian a coat that definitely did not belong to him.  
  
Julian put the coat on and followed Garak through the back of the shop and into an alleyway.  
  
“Founders?” Garak asked and pursed his lips at Julian’s nod. “So they indeed know you are involved. That’s unfortunate.” He looked pensive.  
  
“I thought you were expecting it.”  
  
“This proficiency of theirs, Doctor, would look unbelievable even to a seasoned operative.” He glanced at Julian. “Which I am not, you understand.”  
  
The alleyway lead them to a busy street that looked dirty in the warm glow of street lamps.  
  
“Dukat is delusional if he thinks they will take him in. But no matter. He’s still our main problem. If we’ll stop him without exposing Founders and getting the attention from official quarters we’ll be spared. That’s our best shot.”  
  
Julian couldn't contain his ire. “Stopping a megalomaniac from doing God knows what in God knows where? Do you know what kind of odds are these?”  
  
“No, but I'm sure you can calculate them quite accurately.” Garak said with an infuriating little smile.  
  
Julian had to settle on giving him a stink eye in reply.


	3. Approaching singularity

Quark’s clientele brought to Julian's mind words "sleezy", "fraud", and "untrustworthy". Dabo wheel span at the centre of the establishment operated by several gorgeous Dabo-girls. Julian personally knew one Dabo-girl, Leeta, and he wondered whether she worked in a bar just like this one. The girls would have distracted Julian further if Garak's eye roll had not been so loud.  
  
They sat at a small table in the corner where Garak instantly assumed a pose of a poet observing humanity. Either that or Julian was still hung up on the comment about rent-boys, which brought Oscar Wilde to his mind. Whatever the case, the pose summoned a waiter in mere seconds – a short red-faced man.  
  
"Garak! What a surprise to see you here," the waiter said apprehensively. "By the way, we've just got the shipment of that white kanar you prefer. Which would go along nicely with you date," he said with a remarkable speed while Julian spluttered, "and should you need it, I have nice furnished rooms out back…"  
  
Garak dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand. "I was just enjoying a nice evening and a good company, Quark," he nodded at Julian who recovered enough not to laugh at the name. "Students get more and more trying each year, you know how it is."  
  
Quark leaned closer and added conspiratorially, "If you are after one of my patrons you can ambush them after they left the premises, thank you."  
  
"You are as gracious host as ever, Quark. But I have hoped you would offer us something better than your usual foul brew."  
  
Quark straightened. "Forget about it, Garak, you are out of favours. Unless," his eyes glistened with calculation, "you are paying this time."  
  
"Money! How petty of you! Just this Tuesday morning I had a breakfast with Constable Odo discussing this very issue – how greed drives men to foul deeds."  
  
Quark shrugged unconcerned. "I’ve got nothing to fear from Odo, Garak. Blackmailing me like this, you must be pretty desperate, eh, Mr. Tailor?" The last word clearly implied something else.    
  
"Nothing?" Garak asked pleasantly. "Like this weapon trader two tables over making a deal with another one of your customers?"  
  
"What?" Quark hissed and glanced at the table in question. In this tennis match of retorts, Julian was rooting for the underdog but he didn't hold much hope. It seemed he was right.  
  
"Fine." Quark gave up. "We’d better discuss the brewery at the back."  
  
"Let’s go, Doctor." Not for the first time Julian thought about correcting Garak – he wasn’t a Doctor yet – but instead he simply followed Garak to the seedy back of already seedy place.  
  
Another short man scrambled away from the old computer after Quark's shove. "So, what is it you want?"  
  
"Just a simple matter of an event I wish to take a part in. Me and Doctor over here." He amended. Julian started to suspect that maybe "Doctor" was his code-name or something. "Alas, we didn’t get an invite. A dress code is of particular interest."  
  
"And?"  
  
"We need to know where the event will be held and when to figure the dress code." Garak explained enunciating every word. Quark didn’t take a grudge, though, and simply shook his head.  
  
"You know, Garak, they warned me about you. Said that your tailoring days were over," and just like that Julian figured what "Tailor" stood for, "but I didn’t realise you were senile." He raised his voice. "I need more to work with, Garak!"  
  
"The event is to be held by Dukat." Garak replied with a shade of menace.  
  
"Dukat?" Quark jumped from his chair. "You are crazy! No, I’m done here, you can leave, Garak. Dukat became too dangerous to cross these days and you… you are just a toothless dog locked outdoors for pissing on the carpet!" Julian stared at Garak surprised. "And Odo is fond of me. Secretly. He is! So you’ve got nothing on me. Take your 'companion' and leave!" Quark finished looking like he managed to scare himself with that tirade. Garak’s smile took a lethal glean.  
  
"Do you know who else is interested in the events held by Dukat, Quark?" Garak asked quietly and even more sinister for it. "It’s Major Kira. Poor Major and her poor mother..." Garak sighed and shook his head. "Such a heart-breaking story." He levelled at Quark a pointed look. "If I am to go from here, Quark, our dear Constable will be the least of your troubles."  
  
"Don't try to scare me! Major Kira doesn’t trust you as far as she could throw you!" Quark protested visibly paler than before.  
  
"Good for me then that she trusts you even less."  
  
A silent battle of wills commenced. Despite himself, Julian felt engrossed by the encounter. Who were all those people that seemingly lived in the same city as him and yet existed in an entirely different world?  
  
Finally, Quark yielded. "Fine! But don't come complaining to me after he wipes the floor with you." He sat back at his computer, his angry movements sending the clatter to the floor.  
  
After scrolling down and checking some files he announced, "There will be a delivery tomorrow morning at 7 o'clock, at the place called The Central River Yacht Club; it has an _helling_ , that is, a hangar, where the meeting will take place. And don't ask me what kind of a delivery." Quark finished and scowled at them.  
  
"As always, a pleasure, Quark." Garak mock-bowed and left the room. Julian hurried after him.

***

"That girl that asked me for a favour," Julian omitted her name just in case, "do you think she's still…" he gathered his courage, "still alive?"  
  
They were going down the street seemingly in the view of every interested party. Didn't they have to be more wary?  
  
Garak gave Julian a sympathetic look. "It must be hard for you, Doctor. Unfortunately, there is no way to check on her without alerting Them more than we already did."  
  
Julian expected that, but the disappointment still stung.  
  
"They should think us very foolish and rather forgetful. Not unlike my students, in fact." Garak mused. "But let us not succumb to unpleasant thoughts! It's bad for one's health, isn't it? Now," he said intently, "you look like the sort who watches those abominable movies. Tell me," Julian glanced at him, "what do spies do at this point in the movies?"  
  
"Get seduced by gorgeous girls?" Julian suggested bitterly.  
  
"Ah, honey-traps, of course. Already checked that - not our case. No pretty young things, Doctor, neither for you, nor for me."  
  
"And what is that supposed to mean?" With dismay, Julian realized that he was blushing.  
  
"The right answer is they keep low profile by getting to a safe-house. If you've been wondering what sensible people do." Garak smiled innocently.  
  
"You have a safe-house? What for? Grading tests?"  
  
"Obviously." Garak face took that earnest expression again. "We are heading there right now even if by a convoluted route. But that can't be helped."  
  
"Is it gonna be conjoint with a tinker shop? You got that? Tinker as in…" Never let it be said that Julian knew when to shut up.  
  
"You are a comedian at heart, my dear. But I've never worked as either a tailor or a tinker."  
  
"That wasn't what I implied."  
  
"I worked as a gardener. You made me confess." Garak gave a theatrical sigh. "Not something I care to advertise, so, please, don't tell anyone."  
  
"Never dreamt of it, Garak. But did you mean gardening as in plucking the weeds to let the proper political seed grow?" Garak only looked at him reproachfully.  
  
They continued in that vein all through the way to the safe house, adding, Julian felt, the banter between a blackmailer and a blackmailed to the overall weirdness of the day. He was too exhausted to deal with it right now so he took a temporary truce for what it was.  
  
Safe house turned out to be a cramped apartment above a barbershop ("Don't even start, Doctor"). They even had a decent enough dinner as Garak procured beans, chocolate and tea from the cupboards.  
  
Afterwards they brainstormed tomorrow operation.  
  
"See? That's the plan of the facilities. We go in, observe the proceedings, and by doing that alert the Order to the Dukat's conspiracy."  
  
Julian dumbly stared at the google map of the yacht club. The local laptop was ancient and the thin layer of tacky dirt filled the corners of the screen.  
  
"The Order will be alerted by the operative who's been following us today." Garak spelled out giving up on Julian's capabilities.  
  
"What? We've been followed?" Julian spluttered and rose from his chair in alarm.  
  
"But of course, we used pretty busy roads, didn't we? It's naive to think we can avoid anyone but Dukat's underlings. They are rubbish, naturally. So are some Obsidian operatives but let's hope we got a competent one." Garak seeped his tea. It was Earl Grey - a fact that Julian covertly enjoyed. In this mess, he had to have some small joys.  
  
"And the Obsidian Order is…"  
  
"Ah, do forgive me, Doctor, I forgot that you are completely ignorant of the workings of this 'spy business'." Judging by the amount of venom Julian's enjoyment wasn't that covert. "Let's just say that sometimes one needs something more than home security. Something more… disciplined and under less scrutiny by sheer fortune of not existing officially."  
  
Julian took that in. At how much risk was he now, after learning all of this?  
  
"The Order will eliminate Dukat's plot," Garak said with a sense of finality.  
  
Julian froze. He couldn't believe his ears. The moment like this came once in a lifetime. And Julian seized it.  
  
"Did you just said… _elim_ inate?"  
  
In the resulting silence, one could hear a pin drop.  
  
For a moment Garak looked pained, but then he gathered himself to drawl in his most caustic tone, "Don't let me stop you from enjoying yourself, Doctor. It's not like our lives are at stake."  
  
"Yes, sorry, sorry." Julian coughed completely unremorseful. "Why the Order haven't done it already?"  
  
Before replying, Garak levelled him with another look to make sure no more brilliant pans were coming. "Well, as you can see I'm still alive so they were obviously not involved." He smiled. Coupled with the previous stare it failed spectacularly to reassure.  
  
"So we follow this route, avoid encounter with the enemy and hide inside the _helling_? What will we do if we get caught?"  
  
"Don't worry about that, Doctor. Just do what I say, keep quiet, and rely on your sense. It should be pretty straightforward but if we meet someone I have a shocker to incapacitate them." At Julian's expression, Garak rolled his eyes. "They are professionals, Doctor. All part of the job. I would leave you behind but it's too dangerous. For the same reason you would be better without any kind of weapon."  
  
"I'll let you know, Garak, that my stink bombs were legendary." Julian retorted still in a good mood.  
  
"As I said, you'll be better off weaponless. We have a small matter of clothes, transport and so on but I'll take care of that. Go have a rest while you can." With that, Garak poured his tea down the drain and turned the laptop to himself.  
  
Julian doubted he could sleep after "excitements" of the day but, dangers be damned, he was useless until he rested. He tossed and turned on the coach for almost an hour without much success. Kukkalaka's absence was clearly felt. More importantly, one nagging thought was there, keeping him awake. He finally gave up and went to the kitchen.  
  
Garak's unfashionable glasses reflected the laptop screen - Julian could discern what looked like a lecture plan about complex integrals. Apparently, Garak was not overly concerned with tomorrow events.  
  
"Garak," Julian began taking the plunge, "earlier today, you mentioned a mark that I had. What did you mean?"  
  
Garak looked up, his lips thinning out in a cautious smile - universal sympathetic expression. "Ah, yes. I thought you might be interested." He deliberated for a moment as if worrying about Julian's feelings but then he just went on with it. "There are ways to give someone a night vision or pain-resistance that don't require augmentation. But to survive a poisoning like that? Impossible without augmentation, and quite significant one. Augmentation of this magnitude always leaves a discoloration mark, usually on the arm."  
  
"That's…"  
  
"Not kind of medicine you've been taught officially, I presume?" Garak's tone was dry. "A 'birthmark' like that is unmistakeable. For a trained eye, Doctor, your arm will tell this story forever."  
  
Excruciating wave of shame washed over Julian. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Finally, exposed, for everyone to see. All this time he was hiding his rotten core behind a nice facade, letting go of everything and everyone that might reveal his secret. But in the end he was the clueless one, never realizing that the augmentation tells had always been there. It stung like nothing else.  
  
"All of this is a fucking bullshit!" Julian began calmly but his anger rose with every word. "I can't even…" It was entirely their fault, forever hustling for approval, forever hiding. No surprise at what they did to their child. "All of this is completely unfair!"  
  
Julian would've flipped the table but the kitchen was too small. "If only this bastard didn't augmented me I would never end up in this mess! Argh!" He slammed his fist on the table and sat heavily on one of the chairs completely fed up with the situation and his disgusting break down.  
  
Garak pushed his laptop aside and just sat there quietly.  
  
Silence lasted for so long Julian exhausted his anger.  
  
"The thing is I know precisely the feeling." Garak began at last. "If only they could just act like proper parents, not even particularly nice ones even, I wouldn't end up here proving who knows what to people who never really cared yet shaped me in ways I still cannot comprehend.  
  
"It costs me a lot to admit that, Julian, but I'm not a young man," Julian had to smile at that even though his eyes were stinging. "And yet I keep saying to myself, Elim, why are you doing this? Don't do it, stop."  
  
"And do you listen?"  
  
Garak shrugged. "There are good days and there are bad days. What tomorrow will bring, who knows?" He stood up and squeezed Julian's shoulder briefly. "Go to sleep, Doctor. Tomorrow will undoubtedly see the end of this unpleasant business and you'll go back to your own world, whatever you imagine it to be. Good night." And with that Garak closed his laptop and went away leaving Julian in the darkened kitchen.  
  
And Julian, among the hurt, resentment, and confusion, couldn't help but see that it was his parents who saved his life today.  
  
He wondered whether Garak realized that too.

***

The yacht club was a place where various odds and ends found their final resting place. For example, the misshapen wooden frames, where the burly man fell after collapsing, were probably intended for booming. Garak unapologetically hid his shocker.  
  
They didn’t went for an elaborate disguise ("You look exactly the type, Doctor, – dirty, scrawny and hungover." "Thank you, Garak".) But Garak did wear a bulkier coat and sturdier boots, looking as if he really was here to sand-paper his yacht's hull or something.  
  
"It was quite responsible of them to put a guard here. I wonder…" But Garak didn’t linger and casually strolled from the gap in the wall to the main road.  
  
The _helling_ in question was, indeed, just a hangar surrounded from all sides by various machinery and debris. At the early hour, the place was completely deserted.  
  
They avoided the main entrance to the _helling_ going instead for the adjacent building, which contained showers and laundry machines. Apparently, Garak knew the code to the door.  
  
The air in the _helling_ was dry and surprisingly warm, filled with dust. Hulls of wooden yachts in various states of reconstruction stood everywhere. Deliberating for a moment Garak went for one of them, the golden letters of her name making "Tuna". (The world of sailing was a fascinating place, indeed.)  
  
They settled in front of a porthole that provided them with a perfect view of the main entrance.  
  
Thanks to his enhancement, Julian heard people approach long before the big gates were opened to admit Dukat (with impressive bruise on his face) and his henchmen. They spread out through the _helling_ while Dukat talked with one of the two burly women.  
  
"But it doesn't concern you in the slightest! Why do you ask?" Dukat growled impatiently.  
  
"Just give us an answer!" the woman demanded just as angrily. "We can't risk damaging our own government!"  
  
"Don't you know that Worf is in town?" the other woman added.  
  
Dukat scoffed. "There will come a time when even you'll realize that these small self-important governments outlived their usefulness…"  
  
"No information - no deal!"  
  
"Fine!" Dukat spat. "It'll be employed here, in this town, far away from your precious government!"  
  
The women exchanged looks and finally put a container on the floor. One of the thugs opened it.  
  
"Enough power to send the dove flying!" Dukat laughed maniacally.  
  
Garak winced - he probably realized what it meant and was cringing at the unprofessionalism. Julian could see the notes that one of the henchmen was writing - it was an outline of the attack. Three thick red lines marked the words «today nine pm». Perhaps Garak's disdain was not that unwarranted.  
  
The transaction ended after brief haggling, cash changed hands, and the women cautiously backed away from the _helling_. The gates closed behind them with a sense of finality.  
  
But Dukat didn't leave. Instead, he started pacing, hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world as if he was going to give a lecture.  
  
"Do you know why this place is so special?" He asked confirming Julian's suspicions. "It's dirty and full of rubbish. The saw-dust is everywhere." He rubbed his fingers as if he caught it between them. "So unthreatening.  
  
"Yet, if someone were to start a fire here," Dukat stopped and gesticulated at the surroundings, "not even a full-fledged fire - just a spark - all of this saw-dust that fills the air will go… boom! Nasty little explosion." He shook his head in mock regret. "In other words, Garak, you'd better get out of that old tub. Now! Or I'll burn you both alive!"  
  
Julian would get offended on the behalf of what had to be a trophy World War II wooden ship (according to the poster near the porthole) if not for all the chemicals cursing through his blood right now. Too much adrenaline.  
  
Garak was already leaving and, as become customary, Julian followed.  
  
Dukat didn't waste time on ceremonies and, after they were frisked, decked Garak in the face, sending him to the floor. Julian made an abortive movement toward him but Garak was already getting up not sparring Julian a glance.  
  
"That was for the earlier disappointment, you understand." Dukat explained in a friendly manner that made Julian's skin crawl.  
  
"Anything I can help you with today, Dukat?" Garak asked equally politely as if his lip were not split and criminals who had already tried to kill them once were not surrounding them.  
  
Instead of answering, Dukat held the pause. Julian suddenly realized what he was trying to achieve, and felt a tiniest bit of sympathy towards the terrorist - because, really, no one out-paused Garak. After a while Dukat realized that too.  
  
"They say a lot about you, Garak, some really nasty, unbelievable things. One wonders how such rumours began. One can even suspect a foul play." Garak didn't comment. "Then again, you did execute my father. Oh, come now, it's just semantics - you arranged the execution, same thing."  
  
Garak didn't argue the point. "Are there any other short-sighted politicians who need to be taken care of?"  
  
"Very funny, Garak. Still, you are on the money here - the world has become too full of short-sighted politicians. Like…" He paused for dramatic effect, which worked better than his previous pause, "like Tain."  
  
Garak scoffed. "Don't mind me, prey do continue your fascinating speech."  
  
"You think he'll be able to withstand? Withstand us?"  
  
"Us? Aren't you presumptuous? Your precious changelings aren't eating out of your hand yet."  
  
Dukat grabbed Garak's collar and shook him. "This one time I'll let it slip but you'd better learn some manners and soon."  
  
He released Garak and went to the gates. After none too gentle shove from the henchmen, Garak and Julian followed.  
  
The windy harbor was as deserted as the rest of the yacht club. Dukat made a sign, and Julian flinched when a body of a man was dropped on the floor.  
  
"Recognize him?"  
  
"Yes," Garak replied coldly, "it's Entek. Never liked him."  
  
The body was pushed into the water and went under, drugged by something heavy tied to it. With a growing fear, Julian realized that the man was their shadow from the Obsidian Order.  
  
"Every organization has amateurs," Garak added scornfully.  
  
"That's just the thing, Garak. I won't lie," Dukat put a hand on his own chest and smiled, "you are treacherous bag of shite and I've dreamt of ending you obnoxious existence for a long time. But maybe that chance survival of yours was a sign. We are entering a new age. We can't afford to lose operatives like you to petty feuds." Garak frowned, contemplative. Dukat continued. "The Order exiled you and ruined your reputation, made your life a living hell. You know what I want - to see the old powers destroyed. Help me with that and I might put a good word later with those of true power."  
  
Dukat waved a hand and a henchman brought a black dagger with red outlining to Garak.  
  
Garak took the blade and looked at it as if mesmerized, his eyes traveling the minutiae details in ominous silence. Finally, he tore his gaze. His grip on the dagger tightened.  
  
Then he turned to Julian.  
  
"Something all of these secret orders have in common is they do love their initiation practices, the bloodier – the better." Garak explained amiably. He seemed to be no longer afraid to turn his back on their captors.  
  
Julian was a genius he figured it out. Sadly, he had already checked - there were nowhere to run.  
  
"Do you need to cut my heart out to prove your loyalty or something?" Julian said at last, unable to resist the expectant silence any longer. Irresistible man, Garak.  
  
Garak looked at Julian thoughtfully as if he seriously contemplated the question. He shrugged. "I don't think something like that would do. For those practices recipient usually stays alive for the most of it." He paused to let his words sink. "But don’t worry - we have no time for that."  
  
Garak lunged and struck so swiftly, Julian didn’t manage to do anything but gasp as his breath left him in a cloud of vapor. For a moment they froze, Julian clutching Garak’s arms to stay on his feet, the blood slowly dripping down the blade in Garak’s hand. Thoughts rattled in Julian’s seemingly empty skull.  
  
And then Garak let go and Julian fell into the muddy water of the harbour.


	4. Analytical continuation

_"What is the story you are telling yourself, Doctor?"_   
  
Human perception was a flawed thing. That was something philosophers generally agreed upon.  
  
 _"That you are an earnest hard-working med student being confused by the dirt and grit of this world?"_  
  
What kind of chance, then, did one have to differentiate between lies of perception, lies of confabulation - born out of the need to fill in the gaps, and facts?   
  
_"And if, per chance, the world we live in is a place with much unfairness, full of pain and suffering, everyday struggles driving one to despair, and no guarantees of happy ending…"_  
  
Did accepting the truth about oneself mean embracing one's own imperfections and needs?   
  
_"...who in this world would be Julian Bashir?"_   
  
Julian, dripping wet and out of breath, squeezed the water out of his borrowed coat. For once in his life there was no need to pretend – it was only his enhanced abilities that allowed him to swim so far and for so long under water.   
  
He thought of Garak, who, no doubt, was still among the terrorists, biding his time to stop the attack, his hand smarting from the wound. Garak’s plan was ingenious and executed without flinching. No showing pain for former Obsidian Order operatives. Julian himself bought the act at first – he thought he couldn’t feel the pain because of shock, not because Garak punched him in the stomach while stabbing his own fist. Garak probably looked very impressive too - literally with innocent's blood on his hands.   
  
Garak was like that, absolutely unpredictable. While Julian had a bad habit of ignoring painful parts of reality, Garak was guilty of living on several planes of existence simultaneously - impossible to pinpoint.   
  
The good news was Julian didn't need to figure Garak out. There was but one man Julian had to understand, and to accept. And right now, he knew exactly who that man - that Julian Bashir - was.   
  
And this Bashir was not going to sit still and let his friend die.

***

Julian strolled in Garak’s flat like he owned the place. As he expected, beyond the kitchen the flat was trashed – apparently to cover the fact that kitchen supplies were tampered with. No matter – after warming up and grabbing a bite of food, Julian dug up everything he needed (and he got his scarf back!).   
  
Then he called himself from Garak’s landline.   
  
"Elim Garak, Obsidian Order, Tain, Founders, Changelings, Dukat, explosive device, dove, operative Entek is dead, body at the Central River Yacht Club guest harbour." That were all names and suspicious words he could come up with. Julian hoped that he tripped some of the Obsidian Order alarms and they would follow him. There was no more time to waste and he left for his next destination immediately.

***

Surprisingly, daytime public at Quark didn’t look as sleazy as Julian expected. A Noir themed event was in a full swing judging by everybody’s clothes. Barely visible through clouds of cigarette smoke, Quark was cleaning glasses at the bar.  
  
"My, my, look what the cat dragged in." He said noticing Julian.  
  
"Good day to you too, Mr. Quark."  
  
"I am Mister now, am I?" Quark asked skeptically.   
  
Julian didn't have the time to bicker with bartender-cum-dealer (and did anybody have only one profession these days?) so he cut straight to the chase. "The last time we left in a hurry and forgot to taste your brew." He said in a suggestive voice.  
  
"What?" Quark spluttered. "I let you know, young man, that I don't need any of your services whatever that old bastard may imply!"  
  
"For God's sake…" Julian would like to pretend that an urge to face palm was his only reaction but, alas, he worked up a blush as well. "I need this." He gave Quark his list.   
  
"That kind of brew I can definitely get. But it won't come cheap."   
  
Julian threw fat stack of notes on the table. Quark counted it and gave Julian an appraising look. Finally, with a great show of reluctance, he sighed. "Just because I can show compassion now and then I won't take more this time. But it's one time offer. Follow me."  
  
Quark's refusal to bargain had to mean that Julian grossly overestimated the costs but… He was investing in a greater good. Even asking his parents for money didn't seem so distasteful when lives were at stake.  
  
While Quark rummaged through the cupboards, Julian was coming to terms with what was going on. He was crossing the line of the law, definitely slipping down the slippery slope. But if the world truly was a place he now saw it to be there were worse things than criminal record. So when Quark finally gave Julian a package with a porcelain kettle full of required illegal substances Julian took it without doubts. Though… "Kettle? Really?"  
  
Quark rolled his eyes. "It's Garak's anyway. The man would kill for a good tea. Personally, I think," he gave Julian a significant look, "that he gets high from it. Anything more deadly you want with it?" He said nodding at the kettle.  
  
"No, I was told I’d be better without."  
  
"Got you whipped, didn’t he?" At Julian’s sharp look Quark lifted his arms placatingly. "Just keeping a polite conversation, no offense. But," he gave Julian another knowing look, "if Garak’s charms ever become too much to swallow," Julian rolled his eyes, "I can supply you with contacts of a few very useful people."  
  
Julian didn’t deign it with reply. But before he could slip in the bar Quark suddenly pulled him back. "Shit! It’s HomeSec!" Julian saw a tall man with a goatee and red-haired woman who stood like a sore thumbs in the crowd of role-players. "Commander Sisko and Major Kira! We’ll have to improvise…" Julian looked at the agents with renewed interest.   
  
Quark gave Julian a trench coat and a fedora hat. "Come on! Put it on!"  
  
"Did you mean those people when you offered me contacts?" Julian asked exchanging another Garak’s jacket for musty trench.   
  
"Don’t be daft! They are no assassins. Well… not now, anyway. Come on, mingle with the crowd!"   
  
Julian didn’t know how Quark realized that agents were after him specifically, but they definitely zoned in on Julian as he made his way towards the exit. He sped up and after clearing the doors run outright. Thankfully, special agents or not they had nothing on him in the speed department.   
  
The question was whose agents they were. Were they even themselves or doppelgängers? No, thank you. Julian had a chemistry lab to illegally get into; he had no time to fall prey to yet another sinister organization be it Founders or HomeSec.

***

Leeta was watching the lab entry as Julian predicted. Sometimes his skills at calculating probabilities really paid off. Postgrads of his level were not allowed in this particular lab anymore, but he had a cunning plan. It relied on Leeta, a student/Dabo-girl/lab keeper with a long-standing crush on Julian.  
  
"Hey there," Julian drawled in what was his most seductive timbre (he hoped). Leeta’s smile was encouraging.  
  
"Julian! How you’ve been?"  
  
"You know, doing this and that…" He lent on the counter getting in her space. Usually, Julian avoided Leeta, as her authenticity made him uncomfortable. Maybe he would not need to anymore.  
  
For the first time since their acquaintance Julian hold her gaze steadily. She was smiling, and, hell, he was wearing Humphrey Boggart getup, and all those Bond movies couldn’t be lying, right?   
  
In a perfected super-spy move, he brought Leeta close by the nap of her neck and gave her a long passionate kiss.  
  
The next moment Julian was rubbing his stinging cheek while Leeta was giving him a stink eye.  
  
"You know, I never believed the rumours about guys in fedoras but it seemed they were true." She crossed her hands angrily. "What can you say for yourself, Mr. Bashir?"  
  
"Sorry? Really, I just…" The earth refused to swallow him and he helplessly gesticulated at the lab. Under Leeta’s glare Julian unsuccessfully tried to open the doors (no surprise here – his badge didn't work anymore) until Leeta scoffed, "oh, for the love of...!" and opened the door for him.   
  
"And clean up after yourself!"

***

Several hours later Julian walked into the mall called "The Dove". The giant sculpture of the bird took the centre of the brightly lit hall; the time till explosion was 5 minutes 15 seconds. Julian cut it close - he had been circling the mall for as long as he could hoping to get the attention of the Order. He had to extract Garak from the situation, and if Garak's undoubtedly already existing plan to prevent the explosion failed - minimize the damage. Both of those objectives would be helped by the Order's involvement.   
  
As Julian expected, Garak was hanging around the hall. Apparently, he ditched the yachtsman look and pretended to be fashion-conscious person, observing the scene from the first floor gallery. It was a relief to see him well. Though the implication of black gloves that Garak wore did not escape Julian.  
  
Other Dukat's men were dispersed among the crowd sporting bad fitting civilian clothes. Some of them seemed to be keeping watch rather of Garak than the proceedings.  
  
Good for them.  
  
Julian walked nonchalantly to the bench nearest to the sculpture and left his small device there, right in the CCTV blind spot.   
  
His heart was beating a staccato; as he walked away, he felt as if every person in the mall could see him through. But he doggedly kept walking to the cover of one of the many columns. He didn't turn back even when the sound of rapid gas emission was followed by cries of alarm. By now, 2 minutes 7 seconds until the explosion, the whole sculpture should have been covered with a thick vile smelling cloud.   
  
The panic started to rise and even more reckless onlookers who tried to catch the commotion on camera began to back away - the smell was really disturbing.   
  
He briefly looked over his shoulder - the plan worked so far, but a real challenge was ahead. Julian turned back and suddenly found himself face to face with no one else but angry Dukat.  
  
"You!" Dukat's eyes blazed with fury. The background hum was getting louder but to Julian's mind the whole world stopped turning. Before he knew what he was doing his face took a blankest expression possible. "Is everything under control?"   
  
Dukat looked momentarily thrown.   
  
"It appears you have more work to do," Julian added in a tone of a bored teacher who would be put out by his students' lack of progress if he hadn't stop caring a long time ago. God the witness, Garak was rubbing on him. "We've been watching you closely, Mr. Dukat."  
  
"Yes, yes, I… it's a great honour…" Dukat struggled to come to terms with the fact that Founders did take an interest in him. Julian generously dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "You've got work to do. Don't disappoint us." And with that Julian left in as dignified way as he could, sending a new prayer with every step.  
  
According to Julian's careful simulation, the dove was supposed to fly in the air and fall into pieces, killing a dozen or so people. In other words, the whole point of Dukat's plot was to show off - to do something so pointless and obvious and get away with it. Outrageous attack blamed on a math professor who killed himself a day before the crime. What could be more absurd? Julian saw the point but in Changeling's place, he wouldn't let the admission essay like that pass. No way.  
  
That still meant that Garak was wrong about Dukat's intelligence level.  
  
Right now Dukat was running upstairs barking orders into his receiver but his eyes seemed to be glued to one point somewhere up. Julian risked getting closer to the scene and saw that it was Garak.   
  
Just when several henchmen finally took off to the still fuming device with an extinguisher the light went out.   
  
People screamed and run past Julian lightening the way with mobile's torches. He didn't need so much light to see and what he saw made his blood freeze - at the first floor Dukat was holding Garak at a gun point. In a swift move that reminded Julian of cobra's strike Garak dodged to the side and hit Dukat's arm. The gun hit the ground and they grappled trying to grab it, both apparently as comfortable in the darkness as Julian himself was. After the moment that lasted for eternity, Dukat won the upper hand and sent Garak over the rails. With a sickening thump, Garak landed on the floor.   
  
When Julian run up to him the relief almost made him dizzy - the old lizard was grunting and trying to get up, sending away the whole course of spine injury complications that came to Julian's mind.   
  
"Knew you didn't kill him, you old trash!" Dukat found his gun and pointed it at them. Julian doubted he could make a good shot from this distance but Garak in his hands tensed.  
  
"Don't know what you are talking about. I see him for the first time in my life." Garak managed to retort. Apparently, his hate for the man was greater than his injuries.  
  
Dukat went downstairs never lowering his gun. Julian silently wished him to stumble.   
  
"By the way, Doctor," Garak added in a quiet voice, "I'm glad to see you well." He coughed. "But you still make rookie mistakes. What if the bomb was detonated earlier?"  
  
"Haven't you done anything with it?" Julian whispered not daring to look away from approaching Dukat whose face was screwed with fury. Julian seemed to be making lots of people angry after he accepted himself.  
  
"To rely on others is exactly sort of mistake…"  
  
"Enjoying reunion, are we?" Dukat interrupted. "You never respected me, Garak, that what pisses me off the most. You were always contrary, obnoxious, rude. Never learnt your place!" He stopped a dozen of feet away from them. Every muscle in Julian's body was tensed, ready to react. "I wish I could do more than shot you and watch you bleed out." He gave Julian a considering look. "Who knows, maybe I still can…"   
  
He aimed for Julian's head. The time came to a standstill; as if in slow-motion Julian saw how Dukat's face contoured with a sick leer, how the muscles in his dominant hand tensed, ready to pull the trigger…  
  
Julian flinched when Dukat, instead of firing, fell down as if somebody cut the strings that held him up. Just as swiftly and silently, he was taken away. Eliminated, indeed.   
  
The short stocky man in a granddad's cardigan casually strolled in his place, not at all inconvenienced by the lack of light judging by his unimpressed expression.  
  
"My, my, what a fine mess." The man said. Garak deliberately relaxed. "Resolving a bombing plot with an overpriced stink-bomb? Where do you even pick them up, Elim, at that educational establishment of yours?"  
  
"Do forgive me for not standing up, Tain." Garak said pleasantly while Julian stared at the man. "This is Julian Bashir."  
  
"Yes, yes, Julian Subatoi Bashir, prefers three spoons of sugar in his Tarkaleyan and dashing young girls who leave him for volunteer work in Africa."  
  
Julian wanted to protest but thought better of it.  
  
"Does he know what kind of work you did in Africa?" Tain asked.   
  
"I thought it was your job to spread this kind of information."   
  
"Always with the accusations. You know, Dukat was right - you lack any kind of manners, Elim. Haven't life taught you humility by now? Have you only lost your touch? Such an amateur work from start to finish…" Tain only tightened his lips but disapproval he managed to emanate seemed enough to crumble the stone sculpture behind them.   
  
"A trainee could do better! Next time you need rescuing don't rely on me. And don't waste my operatives. Doctor." He nodded to Julian and melt with the shadows.   
  
Oppressive silence hung in the empty hall.   
  
"Garak, how do you feel?"  
  
"I think I can walk with your help." Garak answered without expression. "Shall we?"  
  
They slowly made their way to the exit. Throwing a last look at the dark hall Julian saw pseudo-Ezri watching him from the gallery.   
  
He decisively looked away.

***

Garak waked up in the early morning. His shoulder and back were deeply bruised and his palm had to be smarting after the sleep. But he gave Julian only a blank look ignoring the proffered glass of water and meds.  
  
"Where am I?" Garak asked, tense.  
  
"You don't remember? It's my flat, well, my friends really but…"  
  
"I need to go." Garak got up and swiftly walked past surprised Julian.   
  
"Wait, wait. What's the rush?"  
  
"The rush?" Finally having found his coat Garak turned to Julian. His face was countered with anger. "What do you think is going on here?" He stepped way into Julian's space. "Do you think that I helped you escape because what, because I saw any sort of value in you? Because I care?"   
  
Julian backed away holding his hands placatingly. "Garak, it's okay…"  
  
"You are a fool if you think I'm going to give you a pat on the head for learning a new trick. You are just a mutant freak who is useful for one thing only!" ("Well," Julian thought bitterly, "according to Quark there are two, at least.")  
  
"Out of my way!"  
  
And with that and a bang of the door Garak was gone.

***

Julian was burning the bloodied gloves over the sink when the door to the flat opened again. Garak went straight to the kitchen and sat at the table, looking guilty and uncomfortable.   
  
Julian made the tea.   
  
"Tarkaleyan!" Garak exclaimed after seeping from his cup. He finally looked at Julian. "Thank you, Doctor." It was heartfelt enough and Julian joined him.   
  
"Bad day, was it?"   
  
Garak sighed. "The worst kind."  
  
"Actually, I thought it was brilliant." Julian added after a while, generously changing the subject. "Brilliant plan."  
  
"What plan?" Garak asked. ("That answered that question," Julian thought.)   
  
"If you told Tain about the Founders he would dismiss you writing it off as your attempt to get into his good graces." Garak listened attentively. "Instead you led him first to the Dukat's plan and then to the bombing site. Tain guessed at the Founders' connection but after humiliating you, he'll never suspect it was your plan all along. You made him listen and covered your own involvement." Julian smiled. "Sounds like something a spy would do, eh, Professor Garak?"  
  
Garak looked at Julian clearly impressed. "Well, well, well. It seems, Doctor, complex calculus was not wasted on you."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"I dare say, there might be hope for you yet." Garak smiled brilliantly. The door chime buzzed.   
  
"Open up! It's the police!"


	5. Epilogue

"I can't even begin to apologise to you, Julian!" Ezri exclaimed remorsefully. "I even got you into trouble with the police!"  
  
"That was no trouble at all," Julian retorted. "They just asked us some questions." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Speaking of which, have you really slept for twenty hours straight?"  
  
Ezri felt her face grow hot. "Argh! Yes, after telling you how important this project was I went and slept like the dead until the next evening. I'm so uncool!"  
  
"Just keeping your end of the deal, right?" Julian suggested graciously. He was so sweet! Why did Jadzia never pay him any attention? "Or are there any other reasons I should know about as almost Doctor? Any nausea, dizziness, weird mosquito bites?"  
  
"No, it's just…" She gathered her courage. Julian deserved to know after all of this. "I've been thinking about leaving the Journalism behind. Jadzia recommended me to try one last time with that interview. And I worked myself to the ground, completely lost perspective. I mean, so what if people are not what they seem? Why should we make a spectacle out of them instead of getting them help? A way to redemption?" Dubious expression briefly crossed Julian's face. "After this fiasco - you getting arrested, Garak learning the truth and me sleeping longer than Jadzia after one of her unholy parties… I decided to transfer to social work."  
  
Julian didn't look surprised. "You won't get any argument from me. Congratulations!" He smiled shaking Ezri's hand over the table. "And let me reiterate - sleep did you some real good. While that arrest did the same for me."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Thanks to the chance meeting with some HomeSec officers I got an invite to… Starfleet medical!" He announced with a brilliant smile.  
  
"What?" Ezri almost spilled her latte.  
  
"They have some scholarships opened tailored," Julian smirked, "right for me."  
  
"My God! It's the best of the best!"  
  
"Right for me," Julian's smile took a bitter edge for a moment. "I will finish my thesis there. Gonna be great. Thank you for that!" He raised his coffee cup in a mock-toast. Ezri glanced at the clock.  
  
"Oh, Julian, I think you should dash or you'll be late for your date. I'll say hi to Jadzia from you."  
  
Julian jumped to his feet. "Right. Not that it's a proper date but I'd better be going."  
  
One last thing remained to be said. Come on, Ezri, be brave! "You know, Julian," she held his gaze, "the last time we met here you looked so… haunted." Like he was trying to get away from something and failing. The present Julian listened intently. "I'm glad you don't anymore."  
  
"It was a bad day." He said with a far-away smile as if it explained everything. "And now," he concluded glancing at his phone, "it isn't."  
  
He smiled one last time and run out of the cafe.  
  
Ezri was watching him disappear down the street when her phone buzzed. "Yes?" she asked warily.  
  
"It's Professor Garak. Mrs.Dax, I presume?" a pleasant voice asked.  
  
"Ah, yes," all the blood rushed to Ezri's face, "I'm so sorry, Professor…" But he didn't let her finish.  
  
"No need for that, my dear. Just say to the good Doctor that if he's late by more than 15 minutes he'll wear his Tarkelyan on his head. If you'll be so kind."  
  
"Doctor? Oh, you mean Julian! Sure," Ezri stammered.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She shut her phone and looked at the darkened screen. Counted to ten. Took a deep breath.  
  
"It was a date with Garak?"  
  
No more asking Julian for favours.  
  
No more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene at the harbour is gleefully stolen from the manga One Piece. One Piece rocks.


End file.
